


Shapes and Forms

by WizardSandwich



Series: Toaster Fics [7]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Declarations Of Love, Gen, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23625085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardSandwich/pseuds/WizardSandwich
Summary: Toaster, relationships, and discussions of love.
Relationships: Toaster & Blaster, Toaster & Prowl
Series: Toaster Fics [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594627
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Shapes and Forms

**Author's Note:**

> like my stuff? you can see some drabbles i haven't posted on ao3 and you can request some at my tumblr at [tasteful-robot-loving](https://tasteful-robot-loving.tumblr.com/)!

“I love you,” Toaster mutters into Prowl’s chest, pressing closer to his side.

He feels Prowl stiffen beside him, the servo that was stroking Toaster’s finial pausing. Toaster tenses, afraid he’s made Prowl uncomfortable, but then the comfortable stroking starts again, softer this time.

“I love you too,” Prowl says. The arm that holds Toaster tightens, as if he’s afraid to lose this little comfort.

“Good,” Toaster says sleepily. He makes the effort to press even closer, basking in the comfort of Prowl’s frame.

It’s silent until Prowl breaks it again breems later. “Why do you love me?” Prowl asks.

Toaster figures there was a lot of things he could say. He could tell Prowl of all the times he’s helped Toaster, but that is usefulness and not love.

“I just do,” Toaster says.

Prowl vents gently. Part of Toaster thinks he doesn’t want to accept the answer, but he can’t read his doorwings. Those were often the greatest insight to Prowl’s moods.

“Is there a reason, though?” Prowl tries again. “I know that emotions are difficult, but can you describe it?”

It occurs to Toaster that this is for Prowl’s piece of mind. Toaster opens his mouth to speak but closes it again. “Give me a minute,” he says.

“Of course,” Prowl says, always understanding.

Toaster takes the time to sort out his thoughts, to think of everything that makes Prowl someone he cares for and wants to see happy.

“You’re kind,” Toaster says, more a list than a long statement. “You’re kinder than most bots expect you to be. You’re strong and hardworking. Without you I wouldn’t be half the mech I am.”

Prowl hums in acknowledgement. His servo stops moving, like it always does when he gets sleepy.

“You honor me,” Prowl says, an odd saying that he had picked up in return for compliments. It’s better than a “thank you” from him. He always means it.

“I’m always honest with you,” Toaster returns. And that is the truth. Toaster has ever lied to Prowl. He couldn’t imagine it. “If I weren’t, you’d have reason to suspect I was replaced.”

Prowl chuckles, “Like in those Earthen movies?”

“Yeah,” Toaster says. “Exactly like those.”

“You’re one of my closest friends. I don’t know what I would do without you or Jazz,” Prowl confesses.

Toaster knows what he would do without them, actually. He’d be dragged out of his office by Ironhide and dragged places by Sideswipe and polished by Sunstreaker. The Autobots would make sure to treat him well. To make sure he was healthy. Prowl just can’t see it, even with that big processor of his.

Instead of all of that Toaster says, “I think you would live.”

“Maybe,” Prowl admits. “But I would miss you both.”

“Well, you don’t have to miss me yet,” Toaster says.

Prowl’s vents slow even more. The mech is slipping into recharge in that slow way he always does, the way that had surprised Toaster the first time that they’d been together like this. He hadn’t known Prowl could relax like that until Prowl had trusted him with it.

Prowl’s voice is barely there, “No, I don’t.”

In the next moment, he’s asleep. Toaster revels in it. In the ways Prowl has trusted him.

“Goodnight, Prowl,” he mutters, offlining his own optics.


End file.
